


Repairing

by nightwalker



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunken Shenanigans, First Kiss, God is definitely testing Tony, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Misunderstandings, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10102589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/pseuds/nightwalker
Summary: Steve's used to expecting the unexpected, but after everything that's happened between them, he'd never expected Tony to turn to him for help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Kalashia's prompt: “why are you at my doorstep at 3 in the morning…”

Steve’s Brooklyn apartment was in a good area - much nicer than it had been back when he’d originally lived there at least - but that didn’t make him any less wary when a pounding on the front door woke him out of a dead sleep.

He fumbled for his cell phone on the bedside table and blinked at the screen. 2:47 am. Far too late - or early, depending on how you looked at it - for one of his neighbors or teammates. Unless something was wrong.

He palmed his Avengers comm as he rolled out of bed. The apartment was dark, but the lights from the street outside were more than enough to see by as he made his way to the front door. He hesitated for a long moment, listening for any obvious signs that something was wrong, but after a moment he relaxed and conceded that it was unlikely the Red Skull would have bothered knocking first.

Tony Stark was standing outside his door, wearing sunglasses and one hand poised to knock. “Oh, hey, Cap.” He offered Steve one of his crooked smiles as he gave him a quick once-over. “Nice pants.”

Steve, who had only that moment remembered that he had pulled on a pair of novelty boxers proclaiming his groin to be “The Legend” before bed that night, refused to cover himself or give Tony the satisfaction of blushing. “They were a gift from Bucky,” he said and immediately had to resist the urge to smack himself.

Tony’s grin spread to cover half his face. “Something you two aren’t telling the rest of us?”

“Yes,” Steve said in as dry a voice as he could manage, hoping that if he projected enough disapproval Tony would let it drop. “I’m carrying on a steamy sexual affair with the Black Widow’s boyfriend because I enjoy being tortured to death.”

“She likes you too much to torture you to death,” Tony said. “She might stab you a little. Get you with that paralysis stuff she keeps testing on Clint and mind-fuck you.”

“Tony.” Steve leaned against the doorway. He’d known the man for more than ten years, he ought to have known the disapproving voice wasn’t going to work. God knows he’d tried it on more important things than this without significant success. “Why are you on my doorstep at three in the morning?”

“It’s a hallway. Does it really count as a doorstep if there’s no steps outside your door?”

“Tony.”

Tony sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was dressed casually for Tony, wearing jeans that looked tight enough to have been sewn onto his body and a ruby red button up over a black t-shirt with a sharp v-neck that dipped just low enough for Steve to see the dark curls of chest hair. Steve dragged his gaze back up to Tony’s face just in time for him to sigh heavily and slip off the glasses. 

Sometimes Steve forgot just how blue his eyes were.

“I need a hand getting home,” Tony admitted, a little sheepishly, and that’s when Steve finally smelled the alcohol.

He had to snap his teeth shut against the first words that sprang to his lips - he wasn’t even sure what they were but he knew they’d be too loud, too sudden and, considering their history, probably too accusatory. Worry is already swirling in his chest, uncomfortable and tight, with a hot thread of disappointment that he can feel all the way to his gut. 

Instead he licked his lips and schooled his voice to hide any emotion beside sympathetic concern. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Tony waved him off with one hand. “I’m fine. It really wasn’t much of a brawl.”

“Brawl.” Steve straightened his back and had to hide the dismay he felt. “Was anyone hurt?”

Tony offered him the same wicked, slightly wild grin he sometimes had right before the faceplate came down and he threw himself into the battle. “No one we care about.”

That was… significantly less than reassuring considering Steve didn’t think Tony counted himself amongst that number half the time. He chose his next words carefully. “Why don’t you come in? You can stay here tonight.” If Tony had been drinking, the last thing he’d want once he sobered up was to have been running around the city smelling of drink. He was going to hate himself as it was, and Steve was already dreading the way Tony would look at him in the morning, ashamed of himself and trying to hide it beneath a layer of flippant resignation. He’d seen enough self-loathing in Tony’s eyes before he’d managed to get his drinking under control and he didn’t want to see it again. Not when Tony had been doing so well.

Tony rocked up on his toes. “Nah, it’s probably best that we get back to the Tower. Appreciate it though, Cap.” He grinned. “If you told me this morning that I’d turn down an invitation to spend the night with _the legend-_ ”

“I’d feel better if you stayed,” Steve said, ignoring the way Tony was leering in the general direction of his crotch. “Look, come on in. You can crash in the guest room. I’ve got some sweats that’ll fit you and we’ll throw your clothes in the washer overnight.”

Tony gave him a strange look. “I’m flattered by your persistent efforts to get me into a bed, but I really do just need help getting back to the Tower.”

Steve nodded, tightly. “All right. Come on in. Let me grab some clothes.” He stepped back and and made sure Tony followed him inside before closing and locking the door behind him. He slid the chain lock in place, figuring if Tony tried to wander off in the minute or two Steve would be gone, the chain might at least slow him down. Tony was giving him a sideways look, but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to stand against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“You can have a seat,” Steve said, gesturing toward the couch before remembering that Tony probably couldn’t see well enough to navigate the living room furniture. He hit the lights and waved Tony toward the couch again, hoping the other man might fall asleep if he sat down for a few minutes. 

Tony glanced around. “Actually, bathroom?”

It struck him that Tony had never really been in this apartment - he’d been to Steve’s old place fairly frequently, but Steve didn’t think he’d been here even once since it was rebuilt after the Civil War. 

He wished it was under different circumstances. They’d been rebuilding their friendship a brick at a time, the repairs taking a little longer than either of them really wanted, but going so much faster than Steve had really hoped. He could still remember a time when he hadn’t thought they’d ever stand to be in a room together, let along want to be friends again, when just the thought of having to face Tony left a sour taste in his mouth.

He should have invited Tony over before this, but he’d been so hesitant to push. 

He sent Tony off to the bathroom and ducked into his room to dress, leaving the door open so he could hear if Tony tried to leave. He pulled on jeans and jammed his feet into his running shoes, and was still pulling a t-shirt over his head when Tony walked out of the bathroom.

The bathroom door faced directly into Steve’s bedroom door and Steve froze, his arms over his head, the t-shirt still wrapped around his forearms as he and Tony stared at each other.

“Right,” Tony said. He was staring at Steve’s chest. He shook himself and blinked before turning abruptly to walk back out to the living room. “Right. Need to get back to the Tower. God is testing me.”

Steve hastily pulled the shirt on the rest of the way and followed him. “What do you mean, testing you?”

Tony waved his hands in the air. “ _Testing_. It’s unfair.”

That probably wasn’t supposed to make sense to anyone else. Steve grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter and grabbed the spare helmet he kept around for just this sort of occasion. “All right, let’s head out.” He held the helmet out to Tony who took it and turned it over in his hands, slightly bemused.

“You got me a helmet?” Tony asked.

“It’s a spare,” Steve said. It was a crimson spare with a circuitry pattern done in a reflective gold paint. Bucky had taken one look at it and laughed in Steve’s face. “For passengers.”

“Passengers,” Tony repeated. “Cap, I don’t think we’re all going to fit on your bike.”

 _All?_ Steve hesitated at the front door. “Tony, how much have you had to drink?”

Tony stopped in his tracks and stared at Steve from a few feet away. “What?”

“It’s all right,” Steve said. “No one’s upset. You’ve been doing really well and slip-ups happen. I just want to know so I can keep an eye on you while we’re going back to the Tower.”

“I haven’t been _drinking_ ,” Tony snapped. He was gripping the helmet between his palms, hands pressed flat against the sides. 

“Tony, it’s fine. I’m glad you came to me. But I need you to be honest with me until we get you back to the Tower.” Tony’s liver had been close to failing at one point, Steve remembered. How long did it take for that sort of damage to heal? Was a few years of sobriety enough to undo some of the damage? Tony had brushed it off in his typical fashion, but Steve remembered Jarvis and Pepper making a much bigger deal of it at the time. Maybe he should be taking Tony to the hospital instead of the Tower. 

But then there was the risk of being seen, of one of the nurses or orderlies or even one of the other people in the waiting room recognizing Tony and taking the story to the first gossip magazine they could find. Tony would hate that, hate to have the press all over this slip-up - because Steve had no doubt that’s all it was. Tony Stark fell down occasionally, but he always got back up. Even when it would be easier not to. 

No, Tony’s health was more important than the chance someone might recognize him. “Maybe I should take you to the hospital, Tony. Just in case.”

“I’m not drunk, Steve, what the _hell_ -”

“Tony.” Steve took a step forward, one hand held out and Tony snapped his mouth shut. “I can smell it from here.”

“I-” Tony looked down at himself and the crease between his brows smoothed out. “Oh, hell. Come here.” He tossed the spare helmet onto the couch as he pushed past Steve toward the door.

Steve followed, hastily tossing his own helmet aside - if Tony wasn’t wearing one then they weren’t taking the bike. They’d have to walk, or flag down a taxi - and pulling the door shut behind him as Tony all but stalked down the hall toward the stairs.

Tony didn’t look back at Steve once as they took the stairs, or as they crossed the lobby, but he did hold the door open behind him so it didn’t close in Steve’s face. “Tony,” Steve tried again, wishing he’d found a better way to broach the subject. He’d never been good at talking to Tony about his drinking, had never been able to get through to him until it was nearly too late.

Tony jogged down the front steps and stopped on the sidewalk outside. Only then did he turn to look at Steve as he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “They,” he said, “have been drinking.”

Three very unsteady-looking Avengers waved at Steve from the curb. Jim Rhodes was actually sitting on the curb, one elbow propped against his knee, looking for all the world as if he’d fallen asleep right there. Next to him, Bucky was leaning against a streetlight, his arms wrapped around Natasha’s waist from behind. His head was tipped back against the post as if he couldn’t hold it up without the extra support but he gave Steve a wide grin. “Not-Bucky Cap,” he called. “Guy, look, it’s not-Bucky Cap.”

Natasha was laughing into her hand. “I think his name is Steve.”

“Steve’s a putz,” Bucky announced to most of the city. “Did you know he had a kid with my girlfriend in an alternate universe?”

“It was an alternate future,” Natasha said, patting one of the hands linked around her waist. “And I’m sure he’s very sorry.”

“I’m beginning to think I may have misread the situation,” Steve said dryly. “Tony?”

“Captain Yesterday there dropped his drink down my shirt during the fight,” Tony said. “ _That’s_ why I smell like - like whatever this was.”

“Smells like rum,” Steve said. “And pineapples.”

“Natasha was ordering so I’m lucky I don’t smell like a vodka distillery.” Tony plucked at his t-shirt though it appeared to be completely dry. “Anyway, maybe I didn’t explain things very well when I first showed up.“ He pointed at Bucky and Natasha. ” _They_ have been drinking. I need help getting them back to the Tower because they are a two-person unruly mob and also because they keep sticking their hands down each other’s pants.“ He pointed at Rhodes. “He’s just heavy, and he drools on my shoulder when he’s tipsy.”

“Tony, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, voice clipped. “I understand. Just, help me with these idiots, all right?”

Steve couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or offence that made his voice so tight, but he knew that if he pushed it, Tony would shut him out. He wasn’t opposed to pushing it as a general rule, but he didn’t feel like fighting. “They look pretty comfortable where they are. Is the Black Widow actually drunk?”

Tony shrugged, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I honestly have no idea. She might be completely smashed. Or she might be completely sober. I thought she was sober but then she broke that guy’s hand.”

Steve grinned. “You really think she wouldn’t have done that if she were sober?”

“No, she’d have done it a lot faster if she were sober. It took at least three seconds for her to put that guy on the ground. Her reflexes are definitely impaired.” Tony squinted down the street where Natasha had turned around and backed Bucky up against the streetlight. “Or she’s pretending her reflexes are impaired.”

“Why would she pretend to be drunk when she’s out with her friends?”

“I don’t actually understand her motivations for most of what she does. Uh-oh, Rhodey-bear’s on the ground again.”

Rhodes was slowly sliding sideways, not so much falling as slumping to the concrete. Tony shook his head in faux dismay. “My old drinking buddy. In MIT we’d drink a hell of a lot more than he had tonight and still make it to class in the morning. I mean, we hated ourselves for it, but we could do it.”

“Out of practice,” Steve said in the same tone as Rhodey ended up all the way on the sidewalk. “Please tell me they asked you to be their DD and didn’t just shanghai you.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. That mother-hen?” He waved at Rhodey’s prone form. “He’s worse than you.”

The comparison felt surprisingly good. Steve looked away for a second before he spoke, a little overwhelmed by the realization that Tony still counted him amongst the people that cared about him. Maybe they’d done a better job of rebuilding than he’d thought. “Why did Natasha break someone’s hand?”

“A couple of guys tried to hit on her.” Tony was grinning. “It was glorious.”

Steve rubbed his temples. “Did Bucky get involved?”

“No, he was settled in for the show. But when Nat got done dealing with the one who tried to get a handful the bartender said we had to leave.”

“So you came here.”

“Well, yeah.” Tony gave him a shrug. “I could maybe carry Rhodey home by myself, but it’s going to take a super soldier to keep Barnes and Romanoff from getting arrested.”

Steve sighed. Bucky did, indeed, have one hand in Natasha’s back pocket. “All right. You get Jim, I’ll deal with the lovebirds.”

“Hey,” Tony said, catching Steve’s wrist in one hand. “Look. Sorry I got defensive. It’s a sore subject, but I guess you know that.”

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed. I just… after the thing with Odin, I worried.” Steve shrugged with one shoulder, not wanting to dislodge Tony’s hand from his wrist. “But I’m really glad I was wrong.”

“Me too.” Tony smiled. “Thank you. For before. Trying to stop me from embarrassing myself.“

“For caring,” Steve said. "You don’t have to thank me for that.”

Tony squeezed his wrist. “For still caring, then. After everything.”

“If we’d stopped caring about each other this last year wouldn’t have been as hard.” Steve pulled his hand back just enough to grip Tony’s hand tightly for a moment.

“They’re holding hands,” Bucky announced. “This is it. They’re holding hands. Somebody find Wilson, he owes me all the money.”

Natasha laughed and leaned against his chest. “Kiss, kiss!”

Rhodes snored.

This time it was Tony’s turn to blush. “Shut up, you drunks. C'mon, Steve, let’s get them out of here before someone calls the cops.”

Steve was about to let go of his hand when he remembered the way Tony had frozen in his doorway, eyes lingering on Steve’s chest. _God is testing me_.

Even in the streetlights, his eyes were the bluest thing Steve had ever seen.

And sometimes you had to know when to push Tony a little harder because as much as he pushed himself, it never seemed to be in the direction he really wanted to go.

Steve tugged on Tony’s hand and when he turned, Steve leaned across the few inches between them and kissed him.

No fireworks. No swelling orchestra. Just something warm and familiar that flared in his chest when Tony hesitantly kissed him back.

Distantly, he was aware of Natasha wolf-whistling. Someone really was going to call the cops.

“Come on,” Steve said, brushing a second kiss over Tony’s mouth. “Let’s get them home.”

Tony nodded once, a little jerkily. His eyes were glued on Steve’s face, wide and uncertain. “And after?” he asked, trying on a small smile that only made him look more nervous. He always was the brave one. "Does the offer to spend the night at your place still stand?“

Steve squeezed his hand one last time before he let go. “I’m counting on it.”

 

****


End file.
